I had a weekend. Quite a weekend. I flew almost 20 hours round trip and drove almost 10. I saw a boy I love, sat in a dive bar watching baseball in a dress, spoke amateur French, discussed the merits of Lady Gaga (I really do think she is fantastic), climbed a mountain, drank classy burgundy wine, got lost trying to cross a bridge, and slept in an obnoxiously large comfortable hotel bed.
That said, I miss the way I used to travel. Something about my grown-up self is so disenchanted with the world. I feel like everywhere I went, I was happy and excited and could find a million things to do... but now it's a quick jaunt to the places I want to cross off a list and devoting a piece of my afternoon to a nap. I suppose there's no complaint there, it just feels like I'm shortchanging places that deserve the excitement of a 12 year old.
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